


Take my heart not my life

by elephreak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Forced Prostitution, Hostage Situations, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Not really iron man 1 compliant, Paralysis, Sexual Coercion, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephreak/pseuds/elephreak
Summary: Peter would do anything to protect Tony Stark from death, even if it means selling himself to the devil.OrObadiah doesn't betray Tony in Iron Man1, and continues to play a role on the board of directors for Stark Industries . He monopolises Peters loyalty, and coerces him to agree to being a bargaining chip for the board who want to send Tony to the raft.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter checked the clock on the back wall, startling slightly at seeing the late hour. “Tony I think I’m going to need to grab that lift home soon…” he looked over to where his mentor sat, head hanging back and eyes closed.

 

Peter huffed out a laugh at the sight, feeling close to being in the same state himself. They had been working for hours, almost the whole day at this point, dancing around the lab effortlessly as they focused on their own projects. Peter had been tweaking his web formulas, while Tony had been designing and hammering on new tech weapons for the team.

 

It was moments like these that Peter clung to. The simplicity and serenity of working with someone who didn’t talk down to him or expect anything of him. A mutual understanding of science and technology with a side of superhero-ing. Peter couldn’t imagine where he would be if Tony hadn’t shown up on his couch all those months ago, couldn’t imagine how he would have survived as long as he had without someone having his back.

 

He stared at the sleeping man a moment longer, smirking to himself and taking out his phone to snap a quick picture for future revenge.

 

“Now now Peter that’s not nice, taking photos of sleeping geniuses”

 

Peter whips around, seconds away from webbing the intruder to the ceiling. Obadiah leans lazily in the open door frame, smug at Peters obvious panic. Once seeing the older man, Peter wills his heart to calm, his senses screaming at the top of their lungs.

 

“Hey Mr. Stane, I didn’t hear you come in” Peter smiles tightly. He shifts slightly to his lab desk, FRIDAY already switching the screens to basic math equations, but his shooters still sitting in the open.

 

“I’ve gotten very good at sneaking down here while Tony is working. It’s a bit late for you to still be here, don’t you think?” Obadiah asks, none too gently. Peter swallows nervously. He always felt itchy when the man was around, something about the air of power he brought with him maybe. “I lost track of time, was just packing up actually” he moves closer to the desk, discreetly placing his wrist bands under his stack of books as he slipped the load into his backpack.

 

“What are you two working on then?” Peter jumps at the voice, now only inches away from behind him. He grits his teeth, nerves firing dangerously. “Nothing much, I was just finishing some maths work from school, Ton- Mr. Stark was helping me.” Obadiah hums, Peter can feel the breath from the sound. A hand clamps down on the back of his neck, and Peter can’t help the flinch. “You’re a smart kid Mr. Parker, I’m sure you will go far in this industry with the right guidance.” Peter tenses, tries to smile at the praise yet feeling unsteady all the same.

 

“Kid doesn’t need guidance, can get there all on his own. What are you doing trying to scout my protégé?” Tony’s voice brings cold relief through Peter. He hates that Obadiah makes him feel so squeamish, he knows the man plays a vital role in Stark industries, he should have nothing but respect, not unnecessary fear.

 

“I’m sure he can. Nice of you to join us, Tony” Obadiah smiles coolly, Tony raises his eyebrows in response, a tight smile on his previously relaxed face. “Is there a reason for this visit Obadiah? I’ve got a kid to drive home.” Peter looks up in concern. As long as he has known Tony, the man has been cold around Obadiah, never explaining himself with more than a “I hate bureaucrats.” He also knows Obadiah doesn’t take well to the disrespect. “It’s okay Mr Stark, I can see if Happy is still around?”

 

Obadiah looks pleased with the response, his hand still tightly coiled on Peters neck, Peter shifting slightly to try and dislodge it. Tony notices the offending appendage, eyes darkening as he looks at Obadiah pointedly. The man keeps the hand a moment longer, as if to see how long he could, before removing it slowly and using it to ruffle Peters hair roughly. “I do believe I saw Harold loitering in the halls, it was good to see you Peter” he says dismissively now. Tony looks like he’s about to protest, but sees Peters pleading look. Tony conceded, nodding tensely, “let me know when you get home kid.” Peter smiles, “good night Mr. Stark, Mr. Stane.” He shuffles quickly out the door, holding himself from sprinting like he desperately wanted to do.

 

“Kid’s getting bigger everyday… soon you will have a competitor” he hears as he closes the door. He knows better than to pry, but stays close to the concealed wall, zoning into the conversation. “Why are you really here Obi?” he hears Tony say tiredly. “Can’t I come by now and then to say hello to my own protégé?”

 

“I’m hardly your protégé. If you’ve got nothing useful then you can see yourself out.” Obadiah tusks and sighs dramatically “always like a child. Knew you’d never grow out of those tantrums. I _do_ have reason for my visit. Ross is down my throat Tony, you need to come in and give him the information he wants, or we are going to have an issue bigger than your little princess CEO is able to deal with.”

 

“I’ve got nothing to say to him. You got your way and got him on the board of directors, I told you I wasn’t willing to cooperate with whatever games you wanted to play. Sorry to disappoint” Tony waves off, his voice hardening.

 

“Mr Parker, Happy has requested your presence in the lower carpark” FRIDAY announces, startling a now sheepish Peter from his position pressed against the concrete. He winces as he walks away, slinging his bag over his shoulder and brewing as he enters the elevator. He hadn’t realised the board was beating down on Tony again. Whenever it got bad, he barely saw Tony. The man locking himself away to handle whatever issues they were throwing his way. He hated when that happened. Hated feeling helpless.

 

He slumped into the back of the town car, letting Happy grumble about the lateness majority of the journey, chiming in only to answer his disgruntled questions.

 

Peter continued to brew the rest of the night, thinking of how he could offer his help, knowing Tony would never take it. He shot off a quick message to the man letting him know he had got home safe, smiling slightly when the response came back through.

 

_TS: Thanks for letting me know kiddo. Sorry about the old bald man crashing our party, don’t worry about him, he just likes to be the fun police_

 

Peter typed out his reply, throwing himself onto his bed.

 

_PP: Old man? That’s you… falling asleep in the lab. I’m sure that’s a hazard. I’ll pop over again this week if that’s cool?_

He waited for the affirmative and goodnight message before closing his eyes. If he dreamt about a monster with a claw on his neck, that was nobody’s business.

 

 

-

 

 

Obadiah was over a lot more after that. It felt like every time Peter tries to spend time with Tony, there’s a knock on the glass, or a phone ring, or an alert from Friday. He can see it wearing on Tony’s face, the hard lines and frown creases, the shaking in his hands from no sleep, his eyes dark and exhausted.

 

Sometimes Peter thinks the arc reactor imbedded in the mans chest doesn’t just keep the shrapnel at bay, but keeps his heart beating when he gets this low. He looks half dead, walking like a zombie through the lab.

 

Peter _hates_ it.

 

When Obadiah catches them together, he stands close enough to Peter that Peters hair stands on end and his heart slams against his ribcage. He wonders if the man sees his nervousness. If he enjoys seeing Peter squirm. He seemed like the kind of person that would like that kind of thing.

 

Tony tries to send Peter away, tells him to come back when everything settles again. But Peter fears what Tony would do if no one was around to remind him to eat and drink, so he shows up anyway. Water and burgers in hand.

 

Sometimes it’s like Tony doesn’t even know he’s there, so caught up in whatever it is he’s working on, _whatever it is they are forcing him to do_ , Peter thinks angrily.

 

“Kid I can see you storming from way over here. Speak.” Tony chides gently, amused expression on his face. Peter rolls his eyes, flaring with dramatics. “I’m not _storming,_ just thinking.” He mumbles, “Sounds like trouble. Spill the beans buckaroo.” Peter huffs out a breath in barely concealed annoyance. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? With the board.” Tony straightens, as if taken off guard by the question. Peter rolls his eyes again, ever the teen. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You look like you haven’t slept in days. Obadiah is here every other day. Why? What is going on?”

 

Tony drops his head and sighs loudly. “Kid, this is nothing you need to worry about.” Peter stands up to cut him off “don’t treat me like a child. This is ridiculous. They shouldn’t be able to push you around like this! They have no right!” Tony laughs humourlessly “They do have a right, that’s the problem. I don’t want you involved okay?”

 

Peter stepped closer “No! Not okay! Just- I don’t like this. I don’t like Obadiah, I don’t like seeing you like this… I don’t know what to do!” Tony frowned, staring at Peter with more hardness “don’t like Obadiah? He hasn’t- why don’t you like him?” he says carefully. Peter swallows, he didn’t really have a reason to dislike the man, other than feeling uncomfortable every time he was around. “I don’t know, he just is weird and he’s always here” he gestured wildly. Frustration bubbling. “Kid” Tony sighed. “Don’t” Peter cut.

 

Tony took a slow breath, “I know you’re fired up. But you’re in over your head okay? I need Peter. I need you to be _you_ , and not apart of my mess. That helps.” Peter clenched his jaw, unhappy with his results, but gentled nonetheless. “Will you tell me if gets bad?” he bargains. “Hand on my heart” Tony says with conviction, hand outstretched. Peter takes it and shakes, Tony’s grip strengthening and pulling him closer until he could wrap his arms around Peters smaller form.

 

“I know you’re upset. I promise I’ll sort this out and we can go back to normal again. It means a lot that you’re still here” Tony murmurs into Peters curls. Peter grips back tightly, having not realised how much he had been missing the warm embraces and the _life_ coming from Tony.

 

“You know you can’t get rid of me” Peter whispers, willing away the strange prickling behind his eyes. Now wasn’t a time for emotions.

 

Tony’s hand comes up to ruffle Peters head, a direct opposite feeling transcends than the one that came with Obadiah’s hand. He seeks the comfort, the closeness. Lingering on the hug for a final moment, he pulls away, making a face at Tony’s sniff of concealed emotions. “We good?” he asks. “Always” Tony replies.

 

And that’s it for that conversation. Peter trusts Tony to come to him if it gets worse, he is naïve enough to think he can do anything about it if it does.

 

-

 

He doesn’t know if it’s just Tony hiding it better now he knows Peter noticed, or that _things_ are actually improving.

  
Tony invites him round to the lab more often, sends more messages through the day and even initiates going out for food.

  
The bags and the gauntness to his face disagree with Peters hopes, but its only early days.

He begins his walk from school to the tower, it’s a slightly long walk, but he enjoys the fresh air, the opportunity to grab an afterschool snack and peer through the windows of the op shops and tech displays.

 

“Mr. Parker.”

 

He jerks on the sidewalk, looking around for where the name had come from. A large sleek black car pulls up alongside him, window rolling down to reveal Obadiah Stane, signature smirk and accompanying panic flooding through Peter.

 

“Hi Mr. Stane” Peter says politely. Stopping to remove his headphones and turn to the man, glancing around slightly to see if anyone was watching the interaction. Surely a strange sight, an expensive out of place car in streets of Queens, a young school kid speaking to a business man inside.

 

“Are you on your way to the tower by any chance?” Obadiah questions, eyebrow raised knowingly, as if he already knew what Peter would say.

 

Peter hesitated, unsure whether to deny, and hide out for a bit before going across. Obadiah’s face leaves no room for that though, and Peter kicks at his obedience and good upbringing to smile again politely and confirm with a nod.

 

“Me too, hop in, I’ll give you a ride.” The window is up before Peter can say no, think of any excuse to not be in a car with the man, but a chauffeur is already out and opening the opposite door for Peter. Reluctantly and not without a final look around to see any opportunity to run, Peter slides into the leather seat.

 

He holds his back pack as a protection over his chest, hugging it tightly, his leg bouncing with nerves. He knows this is a set up, that Obadiah wanted to speak with him in private. There was no reason for him to have been driving in Queens, and the only place where their paths would cross was the tower, where every conversation was being monitored.

 

“So Mr. Parker, how was your day? You are at that genius school, are you not?”

 

Peter grimaced slightly, something about him knowing about Peters life felt more unsettling than Peter could understand. “Yes I am. And it was a good day today, thank you” he didn’t know how to continue the conversation, what topics they would share interest in. Although, it seems Obadiah didn’t bring Peter here to talk about the weather.

 

“You’re a smart kid Peter. You must know by now there have been some… _issues_ with business.” He says bluntly, eyes boaring into Peters head. Peter ducks his eyes, unwilling to be in the line of confrontation. “I don’t know anything sir. Mr. Stark has not spoken to me about any issues” he says submissively.

 

Obadiah laughs lewdly. It sounds out of place. Loud in the small space. Peter winces at the sound, heart racing with the unexpected response. “He has trained you well, hasn’t he?” Peter looks up in confusion “Sir?” Obadiah preens, teeth bared.

 

“There has been development amongst the board of directors, problems rising that are not so easy to fix.”

 

Peters curiosity wants to hear this, but his loyalty is stronger. “Mr. Stane, I don’t think I need to know about this. Mr. Stark believes I should stay away from the issues, and I’d rather not go behind his back” he feels proud for a moment, and stupid the next. Talking back to a man like Obadiah was never a good move. He sees the darkening eyes to agree with his thoughts.

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ is the issue here Peter. He doesn’t want you involved because _he_ is the cause. Probably doesn’t want you to think less of him I’d guess” Peter frowns again, confusion rising.

 

“Tony is in trouble Peter. Not the good kind. The board has evidence that not only is he concealing enhanced individuals and those with super-heroic tendencies, which is a direct crime against the adjusted Sokovia accords, he is also supplying their weapons. That’s treason _and_ espionage Peter. Do you understand what that means?”

 

Peter shakes his head dumbly, the information whirling crazed in his brain. _Espionage? Treason?_ Peter was an enhanced hero, and Tony had told him that his identity was secure. Would Tony be in trouble for protecting Peter?

 

“It means, Peter, that when the board takes this case on, which they want to do by the end of this week, Stark industries will be taken down, and Tony? Tony will be sent to life on the raft. Have you heard of the raft Peter?”

 

Peter had heard of the raft, he knew it was an offshore prison, specifically for fallen heroes. He didn’t know much more than that.

 

“It’s a prison that is designed to break a person. Tony will be locked in a room with no windows, no technology, no human contact. He will be there indefinitely. Who knows what will come first, insanity or suicid-”

 

“Stop, please just, are you sure? Mr. Stark and Miss Pott surely could fight this?” Peter cuts off, a sickening feeling settling in his stomach. This was too much. Mr. Stark in jail by the end of the week, because of Peter. Hot burning panic was rushing through his veins at a terrifying rate.

 

“I’m sure. And they won’t be able to fight. The law is no trial, the suspicion is enough to send him away. Their minds are almost made up.”

 

Peter holds onto the word _almost_. Maybe Tony could run away, hide with Capitan America, and all the other heroes who managed to stay away from the government. Maybe Obadiah _was_ a good guy, warning Peter and Tony with enough time to plan an escape.

 

“You said _almost_. Is there anything we can do to change their minds?” Peter asks, already formulating ways he could aid.

 

“There is actually _something_ that we could do.” Obadiah says, his voice dropping a few octaves. Peter glances eagerly, awaiting instruction. Obadiah takes a moment to study Peter, eyes roaming over the boys confused face. His large hand latched onto Peters backpack, tugging it away, gently at first, as if testing for resistance, finding some, and pulling forcefully. Peter couldn’t help but shiver at the exposure, the loss of his ‘shield’. He eyes the bag warily, wishing it was back in his arms.

 

“The board has noticed your presence being more frequent around Tony. Specifically, they have noticed _you._ ” Obadiah says lowly, shifting closer on the seat separating them. Peter subconsciously shifted closer to the door, hands clammy with anticipation. Was the board wanting Peter to sign over his commitment? A waiver to say Peter would work for their organisation after graduation? Were they looking for Peter to be a spy? His mind raced with implications.

 

“Peter, I made a very difficult deal with the men, I told them that you would do _anything_ to protect Tony… You would, _wouldn’t you?”_ Peter gulps suspiciously before nodding, ready to accept whatever fate was about to come his way. His mouth feels full of cotton and throat as dry as sandpaper. Jitters coursing through him.

 

“They are not persuaded by much Peter, you must understand. But all men have their achilles' heel. It just so happens that _you_ are _theirs._ ” Peter tilts his head, trying to decipher the riddle. The air in the car feels suddenly hot, unbreathable. He can feel a cold sweat linger on the back of his neck, senses screaming the dangers.

 

“Sir, I’m not sure I’m following. What is it they need from _me_?” he asks, feeling ever so small next to the powerful aura that Obadiah was emitting.

 

The man chuckles lowly, eyes blazing with something Peter couldn’t comprehend. “Men are quite simple Peter, you offer them a bone, and they will follow your lead. You are _my_ bone Peter.” He shifts the final distance until Peter can feel the heat of his thigh against his own. The hand that has come to feature in every one of Peters nightmares reaches forward, coming to rest on the top of Peters thigh, obvious in its placement. Peter stares at it, stomach lurching, heart pounding. When he looks up again there are tears in his eyes that are only explained by absolute terror.

 

“My offer to save Tony, is to give you to them. For only a few hours I assure you. That’s all it takes. Your body for his life. Seems like an easy trade?”

 

Peters throat was closing up, he could feel the shivers running up and down his spine. The heat of the hand was grounding him to the horrible present, denying him from thinking this was just another nightmare.

 

“Mr. Stane, I can’t… I don’t want to do that” his voice sound weak. As weak as he felt.

 

Obadiah tusks with disappointment, his hand squeezing even tighter. Peter represses the urge to break the fingers off and away, his fear paralysing.

 

“That’s a shame, that really does disappoint me Peter. I thought you understood the gravity of the situation. I thought you were mature enough to handle this”

 

Peter hates that his cheeks pink in shame at the humiliation and degrading words. “A sacrifice for a man like Tony Stark should not be a matter of hesitation. He would have put his life on the line for his father, I guess I assumed you would do the same. Maybe it is a different relationship than I observed”

 

Peter tries to interpret the words. He hears the clear distaste, the truth in the matter. Something so simple as giving himself away for a few hours to stop Tony going insane in a jail cell seemed like a no brainer. But Peter couldn’t move his mouth to accept, his locked joints refused to cooperate.

 

“Then you are more of a child than I thought.” Obadiah says coldly. His hand comes back from Peter thigh, the heat disappears with it, staggering Peter back to reality. He shifts away, pulling his phone out and dialling, before glaring directly into Peters eyes.

 

Peter flinches back, looking back down at the floor, his eyes are welling with tears. He doesn’t know if its from the reality of his mentor being sent away for his crimes, the offer that Obadiah has laid out, or the embarrassment of Obadiah calling him out on his childishness. It was too much to handle. Panic was clawing its way up Peters throat, bursting to come out in a scream.

 

“It’s me. I talked to the kid, he’s not wanting to help… I know… That was my offer, and I understand what must be done now... How long do we have?” Obadiah speaks into the phone, pinching his nose with concern.

 

“I’ll do it.” Peter rasps suddenly. Whether it was a thought-out decision or pure protective instinct, Peter’s not sure. But the words are in the open now.

 

Obadiah pauses, “Give me a second,” he demands into the phone, he puts the device down, looking at Peter, ducking his head to force Peters eye contact. “Tell me. Last chance.”

 

Peter gulps, wipes the sweat off his palms on his thighs before looking up and holding the eye contact. “I’ll do it. If it means they drop the charges, I’ll do it. But I have two conditions”

 

Obadiah raises an eyebrow challengingly. “Go on” he grits. Peter takes a breath “one, this is a one off. It never happens again. Two, Tony _never_ finds out.” He maintains the eye contact, needing assurance his demands would be met.

 

Obadiah brings the phone slowly to his ear “You get all that? Okay. Do we have a deal? Friday it is.” He hangs up the phone, a smirk on his lips. Peter feels all of his confidence drain out of him, suddenly aware that he had just sold his body to the devil.

 

“I’m proud of you Pete. You made the right decision.” He smiles coldly, hand slamming down on Peter shoulder in a rough grip. Peter flinches away, held back by the restraint. The hand moves up from his shoulder to his jaw, holding on tight enough for Peter to wince painfully. “Like father like son” he grins, licking his teeth and laughing deeply.

 

As the hand comes away, Peter pushes himself into the seat, relieved to see they had reached their destination. He grabs his bag as the car pulls to a stop, grappling at the door handle all but ready to throw himself on the pavement to get away.

 

The hand clamps down again on Peters shoulder, pulling him back from his hurried retreat. “I think it goes without saying that this stays between us.” Peter nods quickly, pulling at the arm to move away. “Come to the Stark labs just out of the city on Friday night, 5 o’clock. That should give you enough time after school to… _freshen up.”_ Peter shivers violently, hands shaking with the implication.

 

He keeps his eyes downcast, pulling away again from the offending hand. “Don’t look so glum Pete, you just saved the world the loss of Iron man.” He smiles, all teeth displayed like a shark.

 

As soon as the hand releases, Peter’s out of the car, stumbling to the sidewalk, swallowing the vomit in his throat. The car tears away from the building, merging with traffic before disappearing.

 

Peter stares up at the building he considered home. He takes a breath, pulling the straps of his backpack tighter. He wipes his eyes furiously and turns away, beginning his walk back to his apartment.

 

-

 

Peter ignores his phone for the next two days leading up to Friday. He spares a message for Tony to let him know that he is okay, just stressed and unwell. Tony worries, as expected, offering food and company. Peter doesn’t think he could face the man now, or maybe ever again.

 

He feels like he is sacrificing more than just his body. He’s sacrificing his relationship, giving up another father figure.

 

But he knows this is for the greater good. His sacrifice means nothing in the greater sense. This was a no-brainer. Tonys life would always come before his if he could help it.

 

The determined words he tells himself don’t help the gnawing of his stomach, the hot heavy dread that pools inside of him. The shakes in his hands, and the constant shame and embarrassment of his task.

 

Come Friday, he didn’t go to school, opting to stay home, to prepare himself for the evening. It doesn’t take much for May to let him stay home, having seen his pale face and on edge persona.

 

He spends the morning vomiting, the realisation of the days end finally taking its toll. Part of him wishes to be naïve enough to think that the men only want him for his brains, for his intel. But the hand on his leg was too clear. Too obvious.

 

He shakily types in searches on his computer that have his stomach turning, cold sweats constant. He gives up on his search, deciding it would only freak him out more if he knew what was install. He hoped these men did not intend to hurt, and they wouldn’t want to break Peter knowing he was going back to Tony afterwards.

 

Would they care once he was there though?

 

He slams his fist into the dry wall, the sting of tears burning his eyes. _He could do this._

 

An alarm rings on his phone, a reminder of the time, a 15-minute warning before he had to leave and get on the city bus. He ducks into the shower, for once taking note of the places he cleans. He shivers despite the steam, the water hiding his sobs.

 

Dressing is more difficult, he tries to think of what is appropriate, what would cause the least amount of hassle for himself. He ends up opting for a tee and his jeans, finding comfort in his every day clothes, a reminder that he would go back to this once the night was over. Shrugging on a jumper, he eyes his web-shooters sitting on his desk, thinking better than to take them and risk outing himself, he places them in the drawer. On second thought he drops his phone in too, knowing Tony’s knack for tracking him if he didn’t answer his calls.

 

It takes all his willpower to walk down the stairs, feeling as if his shoes had been filled with lead. _For Tony. For Tony._ He repeated like a mantra.

 

Upon exiting the apartment, a black car pulled up on the curb. The window lowered revealing a vaguely familiar face. “Mr Parker, Mr. Stane has sent me to collect you for your meeting” he says dutifully. Peter flushes, glancing down the street before hoping inside the familiar leather car. He is blessedly alone this time, alone with his thoughts.

 

His inner turmoil of fear, desperation, trepidation and determination distracts him for the entirety of the drive, his stomach dropping as the car jerks to a stop outside the glass doors of the lab.

 

He steadies himself for a moment, gathering his courage before stepping out. He blinks back his tears and steels himself with a final _for Tony_ prayer, and steps into the building.

 

The place is empty, like a ghost town. Cleared for a particular event.

 

He walks through the halls, already knowing his destination. Spotting Obadiah has his heart leaping into his throat, fear almost leading his legs away from the danger. Obadiah smiles widely, pulling Peter closer to his side. “I knew I could count on you Pete. The boys are waiting” he laughs coldly, bringing a hand to ruffle Peters hair. Peter tastes bile at the action, forcing himself to not pull away.

 

Obadiah opens the door to the office, Peter squeezes his eyes shut begging to find within himself his courage. Stepping through, or more so, being pushed through by Obadiah’s guiding grip, Peter enters the room, and his heart stops.

 

Tony turned around and met his eye.

 

“Kid?” he asks in disbelief, “What the hell are you doing here?” he looks up to Obadiah, who tightens his grip on Peters shoulder. Peters jaw hangs loose, completely flabbergasted at the situation. “You said he wouldn’t know” Peter whispers to Obadiah incredulously, “know what? _Know what?”_ Tony half yells, spinning around to the four other men in the room, all wearing similar smug smirks.

 

“Tony, I didn’t know you’d be here…” Peter chokes, eyes begging desperately at Obadiah, at Ross, Stern, the other men he barely recognised. He didn’t want this. The added humiliation of what he was going to do. Did Tony find a way to track him? Did he find out about the secret deal? His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, so hard against his ribs he was sure everyone could hear. His knees were like jelly, weak and almost ready to give.

 

Tony caught his eyes again, completely confused and stormy, a look Peter had never seen before. “Tony I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do” he near sobs, the words catching in his throat.

 

“What did you do Peter? What have you made him do?” Tony’s voice was rising with hysteria. “Now now Tony, no need for the dramatics. Since we are all here we can begin our _discussion_ ” Obadiah gestures out, pushing Peter further into the room.

 

“Young Peter here was _very_ heroic, making a very big decision for his favourite superhero” Ross taunts, speaking as if addressing a class. The men murmur humorously, shifting closer to the trio in the centre, Obadiah still gripping onto Peters trembling form, Tony moving closer to Peter, gait screaming defence mode.

 

“This has nothing to do with Peter! You let him go” Tony seethes. “Alright, too much talking” Ross interrupts tiredly. He takes the last step to Tony, bringing up a slim device, Tony’s eyes widening in realisation. The shrill sound screams in Peters ears, he doesn’t even have a chance to bring his hands up to protect them before his whole body seizes painfully and then completely loses control. Obadiah catches him, taking his weight and holding him around his stomach, chest to back. Tony on the other hand, staggers and falls into Ross’s awaiting arms, completely limp. Ross tosses him to the couch, his body like a rag doll.

 

The men move to pull out illuminating earplugs from their ears and Peter looks around in horror. Tony is slumped on the couch, skin a horrible pale blue, veins protruding and jagged across his face. His eyes dart from Peter to the men, terrified and angry. “You remember the sonic taser Tony? It’s a shame the government didn’t approve of it, there are so many applications to short term paralysis.” Peter feels trapped in his own body, completely immobile from head to toe. His face feels like its pressurized, as if it could explode any minute.

 

Obadiah shoves Peter hard enough for him to fall gracelessly to the floor flat on his stomach, a foot pressed harshly on his lower back. This suddenly didn’t feel like the deal he thought he was making. It seemed tenfold more sinister.

 

“It’s funny, how easy it was. Really, we didn’t need Peter here, he was just an added bonus for our, _pleasure_ if you will.” Obadiah teases, Peter heats in shame and confusion, trying desperately to regain the feeling in his body.

 

“Tony, you knew this was coming, you’ve been a great service, but I think it’s time to put things back in order. We need soldiers, not superheros. And this will be very useful to us” he continues, looming over Tonys still body. One of them men brings forward another device, a large metal claw, placing it in Obadiah’s hand. “I worried that doing this would be killing the golden goose, but, I guess” Obadiah paused to look at Peters writhing form, “I guess you have one last golden egg to give.”

 

The claw latches onto Tonys chest, the arc reactor twisting and then pulling away from the chest cavity. Tonys eyes widened, mewls of pain whimpering from his paralysed mouth. “This is your ninth symphony Tony. It’s a shame we had to involve Peter, I would have preferred if he lived.” With that he yanked it from the socket, Tony gasping in shock. Peter stares in horror, screaming at his body to move and help.  

 

Obadiah bends down, crouching beside Peters turned head. He pulls Peters shirt from the back of his neck, bringing him up slightly, the material tight enough that Peter struggles uselessly for air.

 

“Isn’t it beautiful, Peter?” he smirks, toying the bright arc reactor in front of Peters face. He shrugs and tosses it across the couch, leaving it to mock Tony and Peter in its close yet too far proximity. From here Peter can see the blood trailing from Tony’s ears and the corner of his mouth. His skin was almost translucent, pale as a sheet, blue as if suffocating.

 

“So trusting little Peter. All I had to do was tell you your precious Tony was going on to a raft, with some made up tale of _espionage_ and you’re ready to spread your legs.”

 

Peter can’t contain the sob. This was all a game, a way for Ross and Obadiah to get the arc reactor and get rid of Tony for good. How could Peter have been so stupid to fall for it? Tony gaped from the couch, eyes comprehending the gravity of Obadiah’s words. Peter floods with embarrassment.

 

“But I didn’t lie about everything Peter, I’m not a _monster._ You really _are_ our achilles' heel. I don’t think it would be fair for us to pass up this situation, you laid here like a present” he murmurs, leaning down to press his face in Peters hair. Peter shudders internally, body still useless and limp.

 

Dropping back painfully into the carpet, Peter glances up with a strain to see Tony, tears sliding down the mans face. Peter wants to reach out, want to comfort him, wants to _be_ comforted. His limbs don’t comply, he was trapped in his own body.

 

He glances higher, only to see the men leering down at him, loosening their ties and unbuttoning their slacks. “I wonder if he cries as pretty as you used to” Obadiah coos, rubbing a hand roughly down Tony’s slack face.

 

Terror descended down on Peter, thick and violent. He whined behind his gritted teeth, begging his body to heal, to come back to him.

 

“Now be a good boy Peter, and hold still” Ross laughs, the rest of the men joining in on the taunts. “We might just let you live if you’re a good boy.”

 

 _You better not,_ Peter thinks darkly, _because none of you will survive if I do._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of this little fic! 
> 
> Please note - as mentioned in chap 1, the events of iron man 1 where Obi betrays Tony havent happened, hence the Stark Industries lab still being there with the main arc reactor still present. 
> 
> TW : Descriptions (not overly graphic) of past child sexual abuse, descriptions of attempted rape. 
> 
> READ THE TAGS PLEASE

Tony had two moments where his life had shattered around him.

 

The first was when he was 12 years old. Young and impressionable. Desperate for any form of affection or praise. For anyone to just notice _him._ Not his last name, not his future legacy, not his father’s legacy… _him_.

 

So naturally, when his father had sat him down on the big large chair in the office Tony was _never_ allowed to enter and told him he had ‘ _very important job only you can do Anthony’_ Tony had been ecstatic.

 

Except when he looked back on every second that transpired during that ‘talk’, and every moment after, he wished he had noticed the strain in his fathers eyes, the harsh line on his forehead, the pitying stare as he led Tony down the hall of Stark Industries to another large office.

 

Tony used to believe monsters were a fable for kids, a made-up fantasy to keep children behaving how their parents wanted.

 

After that night in the dim, cold, terrible office, Tony knew monsters _were_ real.

  
They were dressed in expensive suits, wreaking of whisky and cologne, wearing dark smiles of greed and their eyes were perverse with danger.

 

Monsters held him down, pressed a tumbler of burning liquid to his lips, and stripped him of _everything._

 

It was an indescribable feeling of loss. Too incomprehensible for a 12-year-old to grasp. Mind clouded with pure undulating terror.

 

His father had carried him back out of that office, the office that would feature in every one of his nightmares, and placed him gingerly back into the awaiting car, leaving Tony to be driven home alone, sobbing quietly into the cold leather seats until he passed out.

 

Later that night when Howard had slipped into Tony’s room, Tony jolting up with a whimper of fear, he said his first words to the shaking boy since the dreaded betrayal.

 

“One day you will understand the sacrifices required to keep this company afloat.” He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It never really ever did.

 

“I’m proud of you Tony.” He had said, back turned to the teary child, hand pressed against the door handle.

 

And like that he was gone. The moment to never be spoken of again.

 

Until he had called Tony to his office once more, no less than six months later, the same pinched expression on his face. Though this moment was not the second instance of world-shattering revelation, this time he broke inside, though his world was already in pieces around him, so there was no ground beneath him to break.

 

No, the second time was still happening.

 

The moment was still processing in his yet again terror filled head. It was in the shape of his kid, lying paralysed in front of him, eyes filled with tears, cheek pressed against the dirty carpet, and Tony was powerless to watch fate repeat itself.

 

When he said Peter was just like him, he hadn’t meant like this. He hadn’t meant the unforgettable trauma at being at the mercy of perverted men, hungry for a child’s agony.

 

Though he knew the shrapnel was ascending, it wasn’t that which was causing the assault on his heart. It was watching his child lie powerless, in the exact spot he lay three decades ago.

 

Obadiah, his greatest betrayal yet, placed a cold hand on his burning, wet cheek. Tony could still hear the words rattling in his mind.

 

_‘I wonder if he cries as pretty as you used to’_

 

“Tony, Tony. Do you really think Howard would have thrown his protégé child to the wolves on his own?” Tony thinks Obadiah looks oddly like one of those wolves right now, teeth bared and eyes black.

 

“No. The every-stoic Howard Stark cried on my shoulder like a little girl. Begged me to find another option. _Another boy_.” He continued, scoffing in distaste.

 

“Who do you think gave the buyers the idea of asking for you in the first place? I just wish I was able to taste you back then. All skin and bone, eyes windowing into your curious soul. Though the videos tied me over all those years. Destroying Howard was just as _pleasurable_ as watching them ruin you.” He laughed, hand slapping Tonys cheek in finality.

 

Tony felt his body go even colder. He wasn’t sure if it was his organs dying, or just the ground being torn from him yet again.

 

Obadiah had done this before.

 

And he was going to do it again.

 

His eyes flickered to Peter, still crying and whimpering softly. Peter locked eyes with Tony, begging him for help, begging for forgiveness for not being able to help himself.

 

Not for the first time was Tony wondering if Peter was actually his, the eyes all too familiar.

 

Tony worked his tongue, jaw cramping with the effort to fight against the paralysis. He choked uselessly, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth until his was able to form his lips around the word.

 

“ _Please_ …” he spluttered. “t’k me”

 

Obadiah smiled again, considering the words for a moment. He held Tony’s eyes when he spoke louder. “Thaddeus, why don’t you do the honours.”

 

Tony whined through his teeth, broken and defeated. Peters eyes clenched shut, his fingers twitching beside his head.

 

Tony felt as though he had been scorched with acid. His body burning and freezing, trembling terror gurgling inside of him. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t watch if it did. He couldn’t _he couldn’t._

It was like he was twelve again. Petrified, horrified, paralysed. Acutely aware he was going to die very soon.

 

Peter let out a gasp, Tony’s eyes immediately focusing on the sound. Ross was toeing Peter to roll bonelessly onto his back, chest heaving with air now he wasn’t pressed down on his lungs.

 

“You know, when Stane told me he was going to take your life from you in more ways than one, I didn’t even need to hear the details.” Ross surveyed Peters trembling form as he paused, as if taking in the sight. “But _this_. This has to be the best gift from you for all those times you’ve screwed me over to do what you want.”

 

“It’s about time I did what I wanted… I think that’s fair.”

 

Tony hated himself. He hated himself for every time he had undermined Ross, had acted like the cocky bastard he was, middle finger to the sky and grin on his uncaring dial.

 

“I’m not so sure he would even care, he doesn’t think about anybody other than himself. I don’t think he even _has_ a heart” Stern sneered.

 

Tony did have a heart. It way lying one foot away from him, light dimming dangerously. The hole in his chest was aching painfully in time with his ever-weakening pulse. He knew his time was running out, the darking edges of his vision was a testament to that.

 

So yes, he did have a heart. And they could take that.

 

But _please,_ he begged. _Don’t take Peter._

The shrapnel was moving closer to his heart. Ross was moving closer to Peter.

 

He crouched down over Peter, knee pressing cruelly to his heaving chest, Peters eyes widening in blinding fear. Tony could almost taste Peters fear, or maybe it was his mouth filling with blood. Maybe it was his own fear.

 

_Don’t touch him_

He could feel Obadiah sitting beside him, arm draped carelessly over Tony’s shoulders in a lazy embrace. “Isn’t this exciting? You getting to be the one to _watch_ this time” he murmured gleefully.

 

Tony ignored the evil entity beside him, focused on his kid. Focused on Peters terror. He felt nauseous. He felt like every cell in his body was screaming and dying within him.

 

Ross leant down, signature smile plastered on his perverted face. He paused for just a moment, flickering his glimmering eyes to Tony, before plunging down, capturing Peter in a harsh press of lips.

 

Peter jerked back slightly, eyes widening even more, tears slipping down his grey face. Tony let out a sob. He almost lost visual of Peter as his eyes filled with desperate tears. He locks into his mind in a strange version of calamity that Peter _had_ jerked. He moved just enough to cause Tony’s mind to hit overdrive at the math of how much longer Peter had left before his body was his again. _Would it be too late?_

 

His own body was doing no better. Rooted into the couch, slumped and flickering between life and death. The paralysis was at least slowing down his heart, stretching out his life expectancy if only by mere minutes.

 

Ross licked grotesquely at Peters clenched shut mouth, the boys eyes just as tightly squeezed together. Chuckling wildly, he moved off the sobbing teen, wiping his mouth overtly with a smile tugging the corner of his lips. It turned Tonys stomach inside out at the movement, at the glossy shine now coating Peters jaw.

 

Obadiah moved away from the couch, standing on the other side of Peters lithe body. The two men shared a knowing look, one that Tony didn’t miss, his gut clenching in anticipation of the gravity. “Let’s get you comfortable, shall we?” Obadiah taunted, leaning down in unison with Ross to grab Peters arms, hauling him up and throwing him roughly to the couch beside Tony.

 

Despite the treatment and the events, Tony felt calmer already with Peter pressed against his side. The touch diming his burning stomach. Peter was slumped, shoulder pressed against Tony, from the proximity Tony could feel the trembles. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and cower over the boy, to protect him from _everything._

 

“Look at you laid out for us” Ross jeered looming closer to Peters pliant body. Tony tensed as the man couched yet again in front of Peters knees, resting a hand on either one. “I can’t wait to see what else you have for us” he smirked, hands spreading Peters knees apart, Peters breath hitching with the movement.

 

“Can you believe he agreed to this Stark?” Stern laughed blatantly, stepping into Tony’s eyeline, his face red and coated in sweat, arousal clear in his cheap dress pants.

 

“Your precious boy actually knew what he was walking in to. Such a needy slut, he jumped at the first opportunity to get on his knees” he laughed again, the rest of the men joining in on the sick glee.

 

Tony coiled in disgust at the words, at the insinuation. “Didn’t take much either did it Pete? We put _Mr Stark_ on the guillotine and you spread your legs” Obadiah teased, hand ruffling Peters already unruly hair.

 

Tony felt even more sick. Peter had sacrificed himself for Tony. As much as Tony had dreaded there ever being an opportunity where Peter needed to make that sacrifice, he always knew Peters selflessness would make him do it. He hated him. He loved him so goddamn much.

 

“We probably didn’t even need to threaten him, the whore would have bent over for us for five dollars, poor kid from Queens, thinking he’s good enough to hang around the big adults.” Ross contributed, still crouching between Peters legs.

 

Tony glanced at the boy’s face, flushed and humiliated, terrified and agonised. His heart tightening at the pitiful sight. There was a sudden warmth on the back of his hand, almost unfamiliar in this cold hell. His eyes dart down to see Peters smaller hand pressing gently on top of his own. He aches to thread his fingers through it, to hold on for it for dear life and promise Peter it was going to be okay.

 

It turns out Peter was going to be one with the reassurances. Ever the hero.

 

His weak fingers begin to tap lightly on Tony hand, almost non-existent to the watching eye. Tony concentrates on the motion, blocking out the continued slurring from the men, the degrading words and proclamations. He quickly asserts that Peter was using Morse code, a skill he had taught the eager teenager what feels like years ago.

 

He felt for every tap, committing to memory the letters until he found the pattern at it repetition.

 

_‘H E A L’_

 

Peter was healing, and fast. He tried not to show the relief on his face, not that his muscles were cooperating much anyway. The small tension that releases with relief causes a wave of dizziness to descend, his vision blacking out and fizzing brightly behind his eyes. He was so close to being out of time, the stabbing in his chest screaming for attention. He could feel his own limbs becoming static like- feeling slowly returning, not fast enough.

 

“I bet you’re as sensitive as a little girl, just as willing too” Ross cooed, voice cutting through Tony’s thoughts like a knife.

 

His eyes darted back to where Rosses hands were now travelling upwards, reaching Peters zipper and tugging it down slowly.

 

He felt Peter tense harshly, breaths coming out panicked and wheezed. He tried to jostle his fingers on the palm still pressed down on his, tried to offer some comfort, comfort he was never given.

 

Rosses hands travel even higher once the zipper is down, moving below Peters shirt, lifting it up to his armpits, exposing Peter to further humiliation.

 

Stern is the first to outwardly groan, disgusting expletives spilling from his mouth, dirty promises and praises. His hands cup himself indecently, the two other goons towards the back of the room more discreet, yet just as aroused by the sight.

  
Tony was going to kill them all.

 

He didn’t know if he was going to live to be able to. But God he knew if Peter survived without him, they were all going to die anyway.

 

He knew Peter would survive. There was no other alternative.

 

But at what cost?

 

His brain muddles the time, mixes Peters terror with his own. He loses himself in the thoughts of when he was laid down, pants discarded, and legs pressed open, humiliation deep in his bones.

 

As young as he was, he knew what was happening. He was a genius after all. For the first time in his short life he wished he wasn’t, wished he didn’t know anatomy and what he was to expect, wished he was naïve. But his big brain didn’t help when there were hands on his hips, teeth on his neck, _pressure on his…._

 

“ _Please_ ” Tony whimpers again fruitlessly, “Please don’t.”

 

It falls on deaf ears. They were too fixated on Peters limp body. He wished he could talk, could bargain, beg.

 

He doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline that finally pushes Peter over the edge, but whatever it is, it’s Tony’s new religion, because Peters legs kick up, and _hard._ It’s unexpected for everyone in the room, especially for Ross, who is the victim of the impact, straight in the stomach, sending him spiralling backwards.

 

As soon as everyone recovers from the shock, including Peter, it’s chaos.

 

Peter jack-knifes up weakly, its uncoordinated and clumsy. His eyes are glazed, jaw tight. Tony has never felt more pride in his life.

 

He pushes Stern away easily, the plump man never stood a chance against a super-kid, even in his weakest state. Obadiah is further away, murderous glint in his eye. Tony pales even further, everything moving in slow motion, everything still terrifying, everything still frozen in his dying body.

 

Peter should run.

 

He should be out the door.

 

But yet again, Peter was too much like him. He watched in a daze as Peter, instead of charging at Obadiah, moves quickly for the reactor, stumbling to Tonys chest. Tony doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.

 

It turns out, both are an option.

 

Before Peter can even make contact with the gaping hole, he’s torn back again. Tonys instinct is to reach for him, to pull him back, but his arms are lead, heavy and sluggish, healing, but not fast enough.

 

Obadiah grips Peters hair in a deathly clutch, Peter whimpering and heaving, reactor dropped beside Tonys hand, another mocking gesture for him.

 

Peters hair is released, too quick for him to find his footing, but that doesn’t matter, because Obadiah sends a cringing punch to the kids temple, rendering him almost incapacitated from the brutality of it. Peter fell to his knees, but Tony kept his eyes on the darkened pupils of Obadiah. “Don’t Obi,” he whined through his clenched teeth. Useless to form any more syllables than that.

 

Obadiah ignored him, as he had done every time. He clasped his hand in Peters hair again, yanking him up harshly, Peter crying out in agony. The side of his face was bleeding sluggishly, swollen and red. He was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure on his scalp. Ross stepped over to the pair, watching for a calculating second, before kicking Peters already dazed and bruised face violently. Tony cried out in unison with Peter this time, and while Peter spat out a mouth full of blood, Tony’s was filled with bile.

 

“Fucking prick” Ross spat, looking ready to deliver more kicks to the bleeding child.

 

Obadiah dragged the struggling Peter back in front of Tony by his hair. Now in front of him, Tony could see where both impacts had spit Peters skin open, one on his forehead, the other on his lip. Both so harsh that the bruising was already blooming around the sluggish bleeding.

 

Peters eyes were still dazed, his neck jutting back in Obadiahs grip.

 

“I’m tired of these games” Obadiah sneered. With that he threw Peter down onto Tonys lap, head pressed into Tonys stomach, knees scrambling for purchase between Tonys feet. Obadiah had his hand gripped behind Peters neck, keeping him pushed down, keeping him still.

Tony could feel his shirt soaking with Peters tears and blood. His stomach was screaming, his heart was dying. Whether from the shrapnel or the desperation, he still wasn’t sure. Peter was wriggling fruitlessly, trying to release the grip.

 

Obadiah only pressed harder, face set and furious. His free hand reached down menacingly, Tony couldn’t see what was happening, but he could feel Peters flinch. His heart beat harder despite the paralysing terror, not just from the taser.

 

“I’m so sorry” he spluttered weakly, dropping his chin to press his face to Peters hair. “ _I’m so sorry.”_ Peter jerked back harder, this time Tony could feel as the material of Peters jeans were yanked down the trembling boys legs.

 

Obadiah was leaning over them both, Peter was weakly gripping onto Tony’s shirt, a constant stream of “no, _don’t_ ” pouring from his bleeding lips.

 

Peters knees being kicked apart caused Tony’s own to be pressed open even further to accommodate. A startling realisation that this was happening now hit Tony like a tidal wave. Peter was draped across him and he was going to be raped. And it was Tony’s fault. It was always Tony’s fault.

  
A deep dark part of him mind prayed that they would kill Peter when he was done, so the boy didn’t have to live with the memories of tonight, with the trauma and the terror that Tony had held within himself for decades.

 

But the light side, that was only created a few years ago, on a summers day, sitting on the bed of a last plan super-kid who had wide eyes and a heart of gold, told him that Peter was always better than Tony. Peter wouldn’t be a victim like Tony was, Peter was always a survivor, was always the light in the room, would never allow this to ruin his spirit no matter how damaging it was going to be.

  
Peter would avenge. And Peter would move on. Tony instead, hoped they killed _him_. He was weak. He didn’t want to live with this.

 

But he was also something he never knew he could be.

 

He was a parent.

 

So no, he didn’t want to die either. He wanted to watch as the light died in these monsters eyes. As they were the ones to beg and plead and cry. He wanted them to somehow feel an _inch_ of what he was feeling right now, feeling the weight of his life trembling and sniffing back terrified sobs.

 

His hand clasps cold metal. His determination his adrenaline. His aching fingers, almost blue with the lack of oxygen being pumped through him, fiddle with the back of the reactor, desperate not to bring attention. Peters whimpers have him moving even faster, until he feels for the switch, the addition he had added after another nightmare, this one of Peter dying in his arms after being drowned in the river.

 

He flicks the switch, eyes travelling back to Obadiah who was spitting grotesquely on his palm, fire in his eyes.

 

Tony’s hand moves on its own, puppeteered by an unknown force, paternal and protective to the end. He presses the reactor to Obadiah’s chest, the bolt of electricity instant, powerful enough to throw the man off Peters limp body, sending him to the floor, shocks reverberating through his body.

 

Peter takes a moment to recover, and then he’s moving.

 

Again, Tony wonders about the power of adrenaline and terror. Wonders about Peters sympathetic nervous system and its triggers because, _god bless them._

 

Peter has more power this time, as if the extra moments he spent horribly draped on Tony had healed him even further. Or maybe the reality of what was to come aided too, but either way, Peter was _fighting._ He was throwing hits and punches to anyone who came near him, feral growls and yells pouring out of his mouth.

 

The movements begun to blur, begun to spin together into spiral of colours and waves.

 

Tony knew his time was up.

 

His eyes began to droop, hot and heavy, room diming and becoming even colder. His limbs felt like static, like a thousand ants were crawling under his skin. The sounds were underwater to his ears, muffled and quiet despite their loudness. The crashing and grunting and slapping were drawing in and out with each painful breath he was taking. Each breath closer to his last.

 

He can feel the world tilting, can feel the horrible pressure of his heart slowing, his lungs burning, his brain screaming. And then suddenly he feels himself being lifted, jolting around, air hitting is cold face as he was moved.

 

He blinks tiredly, a figure above him taking shape, curled hair, soft features… he blinks out again, ignoring the pain in his open chest as he was jostled. Was he dead? Was this some sick grim reaper carrying him to the next hell?

 

The arms become a floor, the sound of a door shutting screams in his ears. He can feel trembling hands on his face, on his neck, on his chest.

  
“You need to tell me what to do, I don’t know how this works” he can hear frantically. He blinks sluggishly again, the shape taking faster form into Peter. He can see Peters anxious terrified eyes, he can see more blood than he remembered, more bruises and swelling.

 

“Tony _please,_ you’re dying, you need to tell me” Peter begs wetly. It takes Tony a moment to catch up, to understand. Peter was gripping the arc reactor, the light was glowing on his pale cheeks, trembling in his shaking hands.

 

“Red cord… inside” he manages weakly. It’s enough for a genius like Peter. He scrunches his eyebrows in determination, jerking only slightly when crashing and loud footsteps begin to close in. His shaking cold fingers reach through the opening of Tony chest, Tony heaving and groaning with the sensation. He can feel the wire being pulled, he feels it in his bones, in his heart.

 

And suddenly he can breathe again.

 

Peter has fallen back slightly, chest rising rapidly as he catches his own breath. Tony taps the reactor, now snuggly back where it was supposed to be, his body adjusting and recalibrating.

 

His own breath comes out in gasps as the oxygen quickly rushes to his starved body.

 

As his eyes begin to clear and the pounding in his ears begins to dim, he finally sits up on his own. Peter moves to his side quickly, still trembling.

 

“Kid, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” he croaks. Peter shakes his head, there’s tears in his eyes, but an overpowering determination too.

 

“We need to get out, we need to find a way out before they find us” he whispered urgently.

 

Tony, still slightly dazed rolled his head slightly, Peters pants catching his attention. They were still open, though pulled up in his haste to fight, he didn’t obviously have the time to pull up the zipper and close the button.

 

Tony reaches out without thinking, tugging the zipper up with a shaking breath. Peter looks down at the movement, almost flinching but then settling. He looks at Tony sadly, “Not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.” Tony can only shake his head in response.

 

He swallows his grief and focuses on his anger. “They won’t let us go. We have to kill them. It’s them or us” he says determinedly, forcing his body more upright. Peter nods solemnly, understanding the seriousness, what was at stake. Only one could survive, and Tony knew who it had to be.

 

“How?” Peter grounds out as he takes Tony’s weight, helping him to stand while holding himself up all the same.

 

Tony’s mind was already working out the _how_ a million miles a minute. And when it came to him, it just made sense.

 

“You know the reactor, the big one on in the main lab? We’re going to blow it.” Tony says with finality.

 

“Blow it?” Peter raises a slightly horrified eyebrow.

 

“Blow it.”

 

Peter takes a shuddering breath before twitching his face slightly and then settling into a steely determined face. “Okay. We’re going to blow it” he agrees, slightly hysterical.

 

The foot-steps are more urgent, the muffled shouts of direction even louder. Tony looks around the small closet they had found themselves in. He knew they were already on the top floor of the warehouse building, so that would mean the frame on the ceiling was in fact a sky light leading to the roof.

 

“Alright” he breathed unsteadily, yet again working the mechanics of the next sequences. Peter see’s it too, it seems, because he climbs up the wall effortlessly, looking ever so spiderlike. It puts a smile on Tony’s face, something so foreign for the past hour. Peter presses his hands on the glass, pushing it until it opens with a loud pop. Both men throw their eyes to the door, holding their breath, awaiting the inevitable party to arrive.

 

Peter’s quick to jump down, clasping his fingers together in a cradle, motioning for Tony to use it as a step. His eyes are wild, frantic. They both knew their time was fickle. Tony doesn’t waste any more of it, stepping into the hands and letting Peter push him up towards the window, Tony gripping onto the frame and hauling himself out.

 

He lets the breeze of the night wash over him for a moment before scrambling onto his knees and pulling Peter from his outstretched arm onto the roof beside him.

 

Peter seems just as happy to let the nights calmness roll over him. They both take a moment to catch their ever-escaping breaths before jumping up again.

 

They begin to run over the roof together, chancing glances down the glass ceiling, trying to pinpoint what they were looking for.

 

A bang almost sends Tony to his knees.

 

It’s loud and piercing, reverberating in Tony’s ears as he tries to recover from the sound. Once he quickly looks up, he sees Obadiah. Gun raised to the sky, still smoking, Peter wrapped under his arm in a head lock, face scrunched in pain. The gunshot, if hurting Tony’s ears, would have blown Peters.

 

“You think you can run from _me_?” Obadiah shout incredulously. “You think you could slime your way out?”

 

Peter squirms in the grip, readying to completely throw the man off. Tonys watching with wide terror filled eyes. They were somehow separated by 5 or so feet, too far to reach out and grab, and Tony was frozen in fear.

 

Obadiah brings the gun down, smiling with all his teeth, before pulling the trigger again. Peter slams his hands over his ears, cringing with the pain of the sound. Tony himself cringes slightly, wincing at sharp pain now between his ears.

 

The glass of the roof shatters and rains down loudly, Tony quickly staggering back onto a secure pane and out of the destruction. Obadiah and Peter are still standing, Peter beginning to struggle yet again. Threes a large hole in the roof separating them now. It feels like an ocean to Tony.

 

“Maybe I couldn’t have him this time” Obadiah sneered. “But then, neither will you.”

 

It happens so fast Tony can’t even move to react. Only scream _NO_ in terror as Obadiah lets Peter go, pushing him into the opened roof. Peter screams as he falls, Tony screams as he drops and crawls to the edge, hand outstretched uselessly.

 

Peter hits the floor loudly, body splayed below, eyes closed and unmoving.

 

Tony feels his life shatter for a third time.

 

He looks up with disbelief at Obadiah. The man still wearing a wolfish grin. Tony loses himself. Loses himself to the red and angry blacks of his mind.

 

He charges around the shattered opening, slamming him body into Obadiah’s, sending them both sliding down the side of the tilted roof. He lands a crunching punch on the mans still smiling face before he’s flipped and punched back.

 

“I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you” Tony screams. Obadiah laughs. It’s cold and horrible. Like nails on a chalk board. They roll on the glass both sending hits and kicks and scratches. Tony growls and cries out in devastation, the reminder of Peters lifeless body on the floor spurring him on. Obadiah just laughs, mocks him.

“It’s a shame you didn’t have this kind of fight in you all those years ago. You might have actually made it to the door.” Obadiah grins, eyes darkening.

  
Tony remembers the first time, he remembers realising why the men were releasing their suspenders and unbuttoning their shirts. He remembers lashing out, scrambling to the door, barley inches away before he was dragged back and slapped for his crime. He remembers the roughness after that, the loss of kindness that any of those men might have possessed.

 

He shakes his head, refusing to let the memories slam into him now.

 

“How could you?” Tony grits out between throwing the man off his chest. “I was a _child!”_

 

Obadiah throws his head back, there’s blood in his teeth. “I think those men, all of them over the years, told you _why_ Anthony, don’t play dumb.”

 

They did, they all told him how pretty he was, how small, how much he looked like Howard, the most powerful man in the world. What a feeling of supremacy to have his son pressed under them.

 

“Your boy is no different. Pretty, curious, _gullible, self sacrificing”_ Obadiah sniggers. “You must be so proud.”

 

Tony throws himself again, lets the words rush over him and fuel his hatred. In the motion to tackle Obadiah, he glances down quickly, heart racing at the sight of Peter, up and fighting.

 

Not dead.

 

His body floods with warmth, the frozen depression ebbing away as he watched his boy throw kicks and punches of his own to the goons around him. His eyes flicker to the light behind Peters fight. What they had been looking for. The reactor bright and glowing powerfully.

 

Obadiah stomps down on Tony’s face, Tony howling in pain. He knows he was losing. He knew he was still weak from the temporary cardiac arrest. He knew how powerful Obadiah could be.

 

Again being slammed to the floor, Tony found him self facing down into the ceilings hole. “Peter” he rasped. He spoke soft. He knew Peter would be able to hear. He just hoped Obadiah wouldn’t.

 

Sure enough Peter quickly glanced up, jerking back down to block a blow and throw the man off him. There was no one coming at him now, just him looking at the roof at his mentor.

 

“Peter, you need pull down the green and blue leavers.” He whispers. Peter hesitates before nodding in understanding, scurrying to the control panel.

 

Obadiah rolls Tony over to face him.

 

“I always knew you would die underneath me. I didn’t expect it to be this exciting mind you.” he snickers. He wraps his hands around Tony’s throat. Tony can feel the muscles screaming in protest, his lungs gaping for the much needed air that was now being denied.

 

He grabs out, scratching Obadiah’s hands, face. Obadiah chuckles, pressing harder down. Tony’s vision was blackening for the second time that night. Dying just a quickly.

 

In a last ditched effort to live, he wraps his legs around the man, rolling and flipping, just like Natasha had once shown him. It works, _somehow,_ and Tony staggers backwards, as does Obadiah. The man lunges once more, but Tony is quicker, throwing himself back again, falling through the hole.

 

He catches himself on a beam, dangling dangerously too high. Peter might have survived that fall, but he was a super-being. Tony was fragile bone.

 

Peter shouted below, it was almost lost in the rush of his ears.

 

Obadiah stood and loomed over where Tony held with every inch of his strength. “I guess you die just like him then. Just like your _boy”_

 

“Red button Pete. Press the red button and then run” he grits out. He knew this was the only way. But if Peter survived, and all those bastards burnt to a crisp, then he had done his job.

 

“YOU’LL DIE!” Peter screams below. Tony winces at the pure fear in Peters tone.

 

Obadiah raises an eyebrow, looking down to see Peter staring back up. He smiles surprised. “Ah, the boy who lives. Maybe I’ll keep Peter when this is over. After all, he really does look like you” he jeers.

 

“NOW PETER!” He yells.

 

Peter would never go against him, he would listen to him to the last word. Tony can hear the moment Peter presses the button, can hear the whirr of the machine beginning its function. He lets go of the beam just as the burning blue light of the reactor shoots beside him. He closes his eyes, lets himself fall, knowing he did what he needed to do.

 

Life never gives him what he wanted anyway.

 

For the second time, he found himself in Peters arms, like a damsel in distress. He doesn’t have even a second to laugh at the thought, or let the fact he nearly just died sink in before he’s slamming his feet to the floor and dragging Peter into a sprint towards the exit.

 

They make it through the doors when the blast hits, both of them vaulted into the sky from the explosion.

 

It happens cinematically. Tony feels like time has slowed down. Just enough for him to see he’s airborne, flying fast and aggressively. He looks to see Peter similarly flayed and flying. The kid’s eyes and clenched shut in pain, sailing beside Tony.

  
Those paternal instinct sure know when to make themselves present.

 

He uses whatever force is necessary to push his body toward Peter, wrapping his arms around the boy just as they hit the pavement of the carpark, rolling his body to take the brunt, protecting Peter from any other harm.

 

They both lie on the gravel, broken, seared, and now branded with the memory of this horror night. Tony stretches his burning and grazed arm out, Peters hand quickly entwining their fingers into a tight hold.

 

He looks towards the burning building, soon to be nothing but ash.

 

Soon to be just another nightmare that would haunt him and Peter for the rest of their lives.

 

Peter slides his body closer, rolling to bury his face in Tony’s shoulder, his body shaking with adrenaline and sobs.

 

Though Peter went through something that he would never truly recover from, Tony knew they had learnt something from tonight.

 

If anyone messed with his kid, _they would fucking burn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> As always - come visit - ironwebbs.tumblr.com for a good time.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I've been brewing on. Obadiah Stane is and always will be my favourite villain, and love the idea of him using Tony to get to Peter. 
> 
> Come say g'day at ironwebbs.tumblr


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